Who doesn't dream of Paris: its cafes and great museums and monuments?
People come to Paris for cafes, croissants and the Eiffel Tower, usually. But Judith Ritter went to Paris with something else on her mind: a taste of Africa.

Tanawa: "C'est le quartier Africain. This is the heart of Africa in Paris."

My friend Tanawa, who's originally from Congo Brazzaville, but lives
here now, points out the car window to the narrow, crowded streets filled
mostly with people of color.

Tanawa: "Si vous voulez voir des Africains a Paris."
(Translation: "If you want to see Africans in Paris, this is the place.")

I'm lucky to be in Paris today. It's Fete de la Musique, a big world music festival, including a lot of African music, like this concert in the park with Lokwa Kanza, a star of Congo Brazzaville.

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The crowd, a mix of black and white, tight jeans and loose, colorful African
dress, is mostly standing -- but not still. They're half-dancing, dancing. More
than a few people are dancing with cellphones held high for friends who
couldn't make it here today. The music is irresistible, the language is
Lingala, the audience is mostly French, but everyone is singing along to this
song that mixes Lingala and English.

For Brooklyn- born Janet McDonald, a lawyer in Paris, discovering Africa in
Paris is pure gift.

McDonald: "I just came down here not knowing what to expect. I love it. There
are, like, Africans everywhere. I even made an African friend. I tell her I'm
sorry, as an African American -- I'm very ignorant and we've been talking for
2 hours. Finally, I have a foray into the African community here. I feel I
have a whole new world opening up to me that is actually my world, since I
am actually from Africa, in the good old days."

Ansu Gebbe, who I meet in this outdoor market, is from Africa, but
has lived in The States for years. We're having small cups of very strong
coffee in Marche Africain, in Chateau Rouge. We're sitting at a tiny marble-topped table surrounded by stacks of brown, nubbly root crops and long
green plantains. There are heaps of okra, yellow and green beads nya nya,
and from Senegal, fresh silvery fish in slippery piles.

Gebbe: "It takes me back because there's a sense of an organized chaos -- the
callers are the same. You still see the boisterous women around. You see the men huddled together. The callers, the smell, the noise, the laughter, the people touching
each other -- it's just more of an intimate place. It's a touching feeling, a
deeper sense of being closer to people."

Ansu and his partner Victor, from New York, and I are the only
tourists in sight. We love the spectacle. Tall women swathed in the grande
boubou, that's the dress of long drapes of vibrant, colorful fabrics, and
wearing turbans, timbala, making the women seem even more stately -- a change from the sleek, fashionistas who are seen in nothing but black in
the cafes and bistros and restaurants of the eighth and third arrondissement.

The produce and people in this market are likely to end up in one of
Chateau Rougešs restaurants, like this one, Brazza la Vert Rue, where leopard
skin curtains frame the window, and there are just 10 small tables.

Round-faced Julie Yekka-Romaine is the "Julia Childs" of Congo
Brazzaville in Paris. She holds court here. Her monkey, Rambo, clamors
across the counter among rows of rum bottles, and Julie runs back and forth
from the tables to this closet-sized kitchen. She's thrilled to show me
just how to use all the exotic vegetables she has bought at the market to
make dishes like saka saka, and the staple that replaces bread in Congo
Brazzaville, and in much of Africa, fou fou.

Fou fou is made with semolina and manoc flour. It has the
consistency and look of an oversized dumpling. Julie wraps the fou fou in a
big green tree leaf, from the manoc tree, she tells me. We can barely turn
around in the kitchen, but now she is going through drawers, pulling plastic
bags out of the refrigerator.

Julie has taken a big plastic bag out of the refrigerator. It looks
like pot. It's like spinach.

There are small green kerosene lanterns on each table. My friend Tanawa is
staring into the flame, thinking about Brazzaville

Tanawa: "Quand j'etait petit ..chez nous pas d'electricite donc tous les
village trouve ca C'est la lampe a petrol." (Translation: "When I was small, we didn't
have electricity in our house or the village. I did my homework and studied
guitar by the light of a kerosene lamp. We called them "loosyall.")

For Tanawa, places like Julie's are like going home. He meets his
old friends here. The restaurant isn't just about eating; people will start
coming around midnight to play music and sing. And, there are other small
Congo Brazzaville hangouts absolutely not listed in any guidebook. These
nightspots are called n'ganga. Holes in the wall, like Chez Mere Verro and
Chez Belle Cos, they're a cross between a restaurant, social club and juke
joint. On most nights, people will eat and talk and dance, carving out a
corner of Paris for themselves. But the glue that holds the Paris African
community together, is the music played by D.J. Robert Brazza every night on
the radio station Africa Number One.

Brazza: "The beginning of this music is traditional, just like in the
village. You have somebody who is calling the crowd, and then the party
begins and everybody dances."

I visit with Brazza in the studio in the heart of Chateau Rouge
district. He has 20 million listeners in Paris and around the world, but I'm
here because I heard that locals and visitors can just drop in and hang
around.

He's a tall handsome man with a passion for bringing old and new Africa to
his audience. He tells me about the new dances visitors can see in all the
Paris African clubs -- dances like tombolo, logobee, chalufu.

Brazza: "And you have the mapuka dance, which was a very controversial dance
because you have to dance with your butt, move your butt. It was mamas and
old grandmas who were dancing it when they were in the village or going to
the river just with women. When it came to the city, people were dancing it
not in a good way, wearing short skirts and scanty clothing. It was not right
for the culture. It's always hips moving from left to right, hips moving.
It's from the village."

And, I learn about the legend Franklin Boukaka -- who was so political
in his lyrics, he was assassinated -- and about the singer Papa Wemba and
the crazy mix of Latin America and African music, resulting in a Congolese
rhumba rock.

Brazza: "If you are listening to me, first thing for Congolese music is
rhumba music, which is the base for Congolese music: Congolese rhumba. The
song is really famous is Mario. If I had to sing it, it's "(he sings).

Robert Brazza and Africa Number One aren't in any Paris guidebook
either, but for travelers like me, this radio station, the small restaurants,
and the market are secret doorways into a special Paris, a new Paris and an
Africa in diaspora. I'll never get to Congo Brazzaville, nor to Kinshassa in
the Democratic Republic of Congo -- too far, too dangerous, but I can go to
Paris.

Brazza: "At 193, that's our address at rue de Fauberg Poissonieres. That's our
address. You can come on by. The show is from 9 p.m. You can ring the door, is
open, and you'll be welcome -- meet some African artists, and you cannot miss it."

In Paris, I'm Judith Ritter for The Savvy Traveler.

Savvy Resources:

Where to stay:Hotel Ambassador: Great art deco renovations to this first hotel in Paris that holds the dual
distinctions of being the hotel where Charles Lindbergh was feted after
flying across the Atlantic and the distinction of being the first hotel in
Paris with bathrooms in every room.
16, boulevard Haussmann
75009 Paris - FRANCE
Tel: (33) 01.44.83.40.40
Fax: (33) 01.42.46.19.84http://www.hotelambassador-paris.com/

For a self-guided tour of Congolese Paris:
Contact Discover Paris. This group designs personalized self-guided tours
of Paris including one of African Paris and African-American Paris.http://www.discoverparis.net/